


My Boy Friday

by AnneScriblerian



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Blow Jobs, Frottage, Humor, M/M, Mad Men - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:00:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneScriblerian/pseuds/AnneScriblerian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus Snape rules his company with an iron fist. It turns out even he could use a little assistance. A Mad Men spoof.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Boy Friday

**Author's Note:**

> A lovely fellow Severus-Sigher recently gave me a copy of Enahma’s iconic Snarry story: “My Man Friday.” It was a powerful piece, and I was glad to finally get to read it. It was, however, nothing like the story I had been imaging it was. This is an attempt to write the story that I was expecting to read. Betaed by my beloved Celta_Diabolica.

Severus Snape narrowed his eyes at the young man who stood before him. His frown was so habitual that he no longer felt the pressure between his brows when he furrowed them, though he did pay the price later with tension headaches. He didn't make the correlation between these two things; he preferred to place the blame for his headaches squarely on the idiots who surrounded him.

Said idiots had really and truly screwed things up this time.

He pressed the button on the intercom.

"Miss McGonagall."

He said nothing else. His secretary was quite aware of his expectations, and he refused to waste words.

The boy who stood before him hadn't quailed under Snape's deliberate consideration, but when Snape turned his glare towards the door he noted a slight twitch. His secretary, with her severe, steel-grey bun and her thin, pinched lips, was almost as imposing as Snape himself.

"Mr. Snape."

Though some might find McGonagall's taciturn manner disrespectful, Snape didn't care to see his secretary waste any more words than he himself did.

"What is . . . this?"

Snape deliberately kept his tone even. However free he was to abuse his other employees, McGonagall was one in a million, and he couldn't afford to lose her.

"This is your new Girl . . . Boy Friday."

Snape and McGonagall both turned to examine the young man. He flushed under their concentrated gazes, but he did not move or make a sound. Despite himself, Severus was impressed by this show self-control, but this moment of weakness only caused him to deepen his scowl.

The boy was a bit short; he was certainly not a full six feet tall. His dark hair was shamefully mussed, but even the bottle-bottom lens of his glasses couldn't overshadow his brilliant green eyes. The high color in his cheeks accented the sharpness of his cheekbones, and Severus found that he had to turn away from his scrutiny of the boy before he noticed anything else . . . distracting.

"He is a male."

"Obviously."

This was a bit of cheek indeed, and Snape raised an eyebrow at his usually humorless secretary.

She sighed and even slumped a bit. A very little bit.

"The agency refused to send any more girls. There were . . . complaints."

If Snape were capable of blushing, it would have been his turn to do so. He whipped his head around to see the boy's reaction, but the boy had an impressive control over his countenance. Only his continued flush and the increased sparkle in his eyes belied any curiosity on his part.

"That will be all, Miss McGonagall."

And, without another word, she was gone.

So, they wouldn't send any more girls. Snape was chagrined that rumors about his frankly inappropriate behavior in the workplace were common knowledge.

He knew that he shouldn't indulge his baser instincts at work, but the idiots the agency dared to call "assistants" defied description. All they did was check their makeup and fiddle with their hair and daydream. He'd even found a number of them doodling their name with a variety of different last names when they were meant to be taking notes on his desires. His needs, rather.

At least this boy wouldn't be wasting time on personal grooming. Clearly he had never even seen a comb.

"What's your name, then? Or shall I just call you 'boy'?"

"Harry Potter, if you please, sir."

Snape was not pleased. Not in the least. His biggest rival during his school days had been named Potter. There was no way he would be saying that name all day long.

"I will address you as 'Friday.'"

There. The boy had undoubtedly never read Defoe, and it flattered Snape's self-image to play the part of Robinson Crusoe. He, too, didn't need anyone else, and he had built his empire from nothing.

Lost in a reverie of blue seas and barren shores, Snape forgot about the boy. He actually started when his focus returned to the room and he saw Friday standing still as a statue.

He barked at they boy to cover his own slip, "Well? What are you doing hanging about? Go make yourself useful to the girls in the secretarial pool. When I have no particular need of you, you will be at their service."

"Yes, sir."

Snape was relieved to see the back of him, though the sight of that pert arse sparked off yet another train of thought that certainly didn't belong in the office. When Friday had carefully closed the door behind him, Snape briefly leant over his desk and buried his head in his hands.

Friday might turn out to be even more maddening than all of the chits he'd dismissed. Their bright colors and constant chirping had made him want to crush them in his hand like a particularly annoying child's toy.

This boy made him want to crush something completely different. He let out a quiet groan at the image, and then he sat up straight and re-focused his attention on the work of running a perfume company.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Snape found Friday to be remarkably unobtrusive. He brought Snape's coffee, perfectly prepared, at the proper times. He fetched Snape's suits from the dry cleaners, and he carried memos about the building with admirable speed. He never spoke to Snape unless he was spoken to.

And if Snape spent a fair amount of time studying the boy, well, it was no more than the men ogled the girls in the office. He had always turned a blind eye to the blatant shenanigans in which his employees engaged, unless the flirtations and liaisons impacted productivity or fomented office drama.

Snape tolerated no favoritism, and he didn't bother to be polite with employees. And if you did something to warrant criticism . . . The sobbing flight from the building of Snape's assistants—sometimes more than one a week—served as warning enough. But his employees quickly learnt that if they didn't make a fuss or cause problems, they would be paid well and allowed to work to their full potential.

So Snape looked his fill. Friday didn't seem to mind; he continued to be respectful and quiet. Eventually he even stopped blushing every time Snape spoke to him.

*~*~*~*~*

Once he and Friday had settled into a comfortable routine, Snape decided that it was time for a performance review. None of his so-called assistants had ever stayed long enough to warrant such treatment. Strictly speaking, an official review of a mere assistant wasn't done. But Snape made his own rules, and he wanted to make sure Friday would stay. He was, in his own way, becoming as indispensable to Snape as Miss McGonagall was.

When he had Friday standing silently before him, ready for inspection, Snape sent McGonagall out with a parting injunction.

"I am not to be disturbed, Miss McGonagall. For any reason."

Only Snape's sharp eye would have noticed the miniscule pause before she said, "Yes, sir."

When the door clicked shut behind her, Snape stood up and walked around his desk towards the boy. Friday twitched slightly, but he quickly regained his equilibrium. Snape walked right past him, close enough that their arms almost brushed. Friday continued to stare at Snape's empty chair while Snape approached the drinks cart tucked into a corner of his large office. Clients required drinks, and Snape had found the custom quite useful. The informality, not to mention the effect of the alcohol, made clients more malleable.

For Friday, Snape had something special in mind. He wasn't sure Friday would enjoy the taste of spirits enough to overcome the oddness of being ordered to drink with his boss. But he knew that the youth wouldn't be able to resist this particular concoction.

Snape took his own drink in hand and deftly insinuated himself between the front of his desk and Friday. Although they were mere inches apart, Friday held his ground. Snape was, however, gratified to hear a hitch in the boy's breath, and he took a moment to take a deep breath. A perfumer, if he was worth the name, had a nose that rivaled the keenest gourmet's palate.

Friday smelled of soap and feather beds, with a base note of youthful perspiration. Delicious.

"Let's sit on the couch."

Friday was perched on the edge of Snape's leather couch in an instant. Snape took a measured sip of his scotch and then regarded the glass.

"I do not enjoy drinking alone, Friday. You will join me. Fetch yourself a drink."

"Yes, sir."

Friday walked to the drinks cart readily enough, but once he reached it, he froze with uncharacteristic tension.

"I think you will enjoy the liqueur in the blue bottle. Pour a little in a highball glass, no ice. Then join me on the couch again."

Friday did as he was told. When he was once again seated with his drink held awkwardly in both hands, Snape raised an eyebrow at him until Friday took a tentative sip. Snape inwardly smiled as the full, sweet taste of the peach moonshine hit the boy, and his eyes widened with surprise. After the initial taste, Friday didn't hesitate to take small sips of the deceptively sweet distillation.

Snape waited through a few more swallows, then spoke in a casual tone, "I would like to know what the girls in the secretarial pool have been telling you about me."

As he waited for Friday to stop coughing, Snape reflected on the daily sight of the girls cooing over the boy. They made him work for his pay; the office could spare no available labor. But they also spoiled the handsome lad terribly.

"Sir?" Friday eventually squeaked.

"Have they been telling you salacious tales of my 'misconduct' with my previous assistants?"

Friday looked shocked.

"No, sir."

"Come, now. I refuse to believe that they have been silent on the issue. Don't lie to me, boy."

Friday actually flinched at his use of the word 'boy,' Snape noted. But he answered the question.

"They told me that you had been . . . cruel. But they never said you were improper."

Friday had a smile on his face as he made this pronouncement.

Snape wasn't sure how to take that.

"Do you find that amusing?"

His voice had a dangerous edge.

Apparently the potent brew had already loosened the boy's tongue, and he spoke right up without fear.

"No! It was just a relief. I hated thinking about you with all of those girls."

Snape put his glass down on the occasional table and motioned for Friday to do the same. He leant forward so that when Friday straightened up, he was nose to nose with Snape.

Snape used the voice he saved for the most serious of reprimands or for seduction. He had used it to bring many men to their knees, both literally and figuratively.

"And just why do you hate picturing me with ‘all those girls’, Mr. Potter?"

Snape had thought that the combination of sudden proximity, his unprecedented use of the boy's proper name, and The Voice would have reduced Friday to a quivering mess, or at least driven him from the room.

He got the shock of his life when Friday leaned forward the few millimeters it took to bring their lips together in a chaste kiss.

Snape was surprised, but he was not one to waste an opportunity, no matter how unexpected it might be.

Snape grasped Friday's shoulders and pushed him back onto the couch while ruthlessly plundering the boy's soft, wet mouth. He licked and sucked every trace of the sweet, sticky peach flavoring from Friday's lips, teeth and tongue. Friday flung his arms around Snape's neck and held on on tightly. Snape finally let him breathe when Friday's grasp began to weaken.

Snape pulled back and looked at Friday. The boy's glasses were hopelessly askew, his lips were cherry-red and swollen, and his chest was heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His hair looked much the same as usual.

He considered for a moment. Friday had shown no sign of resisting; even as he gasped for air he was reaching his arms up towards Snape. The boy was temptation incarnate. It wouldn't do to make a mess, but he couldn’t stop now; he needed to taste more of the boy.

He made a snap decision and pulled Friday's trousers right down off of his hips. The boy was so scandalously thin that both trousers and pants slipped down quite easily. Snape pulled them down past Friday’s knees, effectively hobbling the boy.

Snape quite enjoyed the sight of his boy fettered like this, but it did not allow him to spread those thin legs apart to get to his prize: the long, narrow prick that jutted out, already dribbling with clear pre-come.

Then Snape did something he had never done before. He knelt on the floor and took another man's cock into his mouth.

He'd tasted cock before; in fact, he enjoyed the smell and taste of a young man's prick and balls very much. But Severus Snape knelt before no man.

But Snape was too entranced by the delicacy he was enjoying to even process his position. Nothing mattered except swallowing the smooth, slender prick down as far as he could and snuffling in the damp, clean hair at its base.

Snape could hold his breath for an unnaturally long period of time—a skill he had unwittingly developed while working with perfumes. His customers would have been surprised by the malodorous conditions of perfume production. Even Snape's exquisite distillations smelled rank during certain periods of their production. Snape found his increased lung capacity very useful for shouting and for . . . other things.

Snape didn't even need to come up for air before Friday jerked his hips up helplessly and spurted straight down his throat.

Such quickness was not unusual for such an innocent. But Snape wouldn't be denied his treat. He spent a long time licking Friday's subsiding prick clean, sniffing his fill as he worked his tongue into every crevice. Friday was just as Snape had thought he would be: absolutely delicious.

Friday squirmed helplessly as Snape gently abused his sensitive prick, but Snape held the boy's hips down easily. When Friday let a soft exclamation escape his lips, Snape rose and covered the boy’s body with his own, pressing Friday deeply into the cushions. Snape didn't bother to pull down his own trousers. After all, he had a change of clothes in his private washroom.

Snape thrust his tongue down Friday's throat as he humped against the boy’s naked thigh. When he came in his pants, Snape pulled back and let the boy breathe. Friday's eyes were unfocused, and he coughed as he struggled to fill his lungs once more. Snape resisted the urge to cover Friday's gasping mouth once more and contented himself with licking the sweat from the boy's throat.

When Friday was breathing somewhat normally again, Snape pulled the boy’s trousers back up and gathered the boy in his arms. Friday's head lolled back, but he didn't resist when Snape bent down and kissed him once again. He even arched up for more when Snape only touched his lips briefly and pulled back.

Snape buried his nose in Friday's messy hair while the boy recovered, and he began to plan. He knew that Friday had a natural talent for likenesses—he had seen the girls exclaiming over his sketches. He would encourage him to develop his artistic talent. Who knew, maybe some day Friday could create promotional materials in-house, and Snape could stop hiring ad agencies, which would be great for the bottom line.

After a bit, Snape realized that Friday had actually dozed off in his arms. He smirked at the shock this would have caused any of his previous assistants, or indeed anyone who had ever worked for him, or even his occasional lovers. No one had ever trusted him enough to fall asleep on him. As he settled Friday gently on the couch, Snape realized that his ever-present headache had left him.

He was definitely keeping his Boy Friday.


End file.
